Seasons
by Kything to Write
Summary: Even the seasons remind me of you, because I can't forget the things we did together. And no matter how much I try to run away from the memories, I can't. Some drabbles set after the First War, some after the Second.
1. Spring

George hated the Spring. He hated it with all his heart. He hated the small white clouds on the blue sky; he hated the cheery faces of flowers; he hated the Easter eggs and chocolates; he hated the pure, clean, greenness of the world; he hated the memories.

No, he _loathed_ the memories. He stayed awake for nights on end, staring out of the window at the garden of the Burrow, wishing the memories away. He watched the flowers, all wrapped in blue-grey blankets, their heads drooping as they slept, and wondered why he couldn't sleep. Then he saw the empty patch of floor where there once used to be another bed, clearly visible in the darkness. He felt the hole in his head where there once used to be another ear. He wrapped his arms around himself and pretended that there were still two, two of _everything_—two beds in the room, two ears on his head, two sets of candles on a birthday cake, two Easter eggs filled with home-made toffee, two of _him_.

* * *

Spring was when everything had happened. Spring was when Fred and George had had their first bout of accidental magic, causing Charlie's toy dragon to fly to them as toddlers. Spring was when they had sneaked out of the Burrow for the first time and gathered armfuls of flowers, then filled all the breakfast dishes with them before anybody woke up. Spring was when they had engineered their first 'proper' prank at Hogwarts, bribing several older Ravenclaw students to tell them spells, then enchanting the whole of Gryffindor's Easter eggs to sing and dance across their table in the Great Hall.

Spring was when they had sent every extended relative of theirs (including Auntie Muriel) gifts on _their_ birthday, which most of them had conveniently forgotten was also April Fools' Day, which had resulted in quite a lot of chaos and more than a few Howlers. Spring was when, staying up late at night and talking with Lee, they had first come up with the idea of their very own pranks' shop. Spring was when, finally, they had perfected the first Skiving Snackbox.

* * *

Spring was when it had all ended. It was all because of Spring.

It was because of Spring that he would stop in his tracks and turn to his right, staring at where there _should_ be someone, but there wasn't. It was because of Spring that he wore a jumper with a large 'F' on it, just to make sure nobody forgot. It was because of Spring that, in the middle of the night, when the loneliness woke him, he would hear soft sobbing and broken words of assurance coming from his parents' room. It was because of Spring that there was only one of everything now. It was because of Spring that everything had been broken, grabbed from both sides and torn apart, then tossed to opposite ends of existence.

* * *

Spring had broken him.

There had always been two. Fred and George. George and Fred.

Except now there was only one. One George, and no Fred.

But in the middle of the night, when flowers bobbed their heads in dreams and the empty spot on the floor showed in the moonlight and all the places that Fred wasn't stood out in his memory, George wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes, and if he tried hard enough he could still hear the laughter, still feel the arm around his shoulder, still sense that wholeness in his heart.

Almost.

* * *

**A/N:** So, this is going to be a four-part ficlet, with one chapter for each season. Set after the Second War. Will hopefully be completed within four days! Reviews and ConCrit will be very, very much appreciated.


	2. Summer

Summer had always been a special time for them. For Andy, Ted and Dora. She remembered going to King's Cross with Ted to pick up Dora, and the way Dora would run towards them, arms outstretched and hair in some strange shade or the other. For the next few days, Dora would talk non-stop about everything that had happened, even though she had already told Andy and Ted most of it in her letters. Andy could pick out those days clearly in her head—the time Dora had told them the details of her first prank with Charlie Weasley, while Andy tried to disapprove and Ted chuckled and _almost_ said that Sirius would have been proud; the summer Dora had declared that she was going to be an Auror, and spent hours reading up defensive spells, after finding out the full story of what had happened to Sirius and the Potters; the day Dora had finally admitted her first crush to Andy.

Andy tried not to remember those things any more, just because it hurt too much. But whatever she did, she couldn't force away the Summer, with its lazy days and memories of cold lunches and picnics and quiet evenings. She couldn't force away the Summer, when everybody would be home from school and work, and she would find herself being invited to lunches and picnics and evenings. But more than everything else, she couldn't force away her own Summer—little Teddy.

* * *

Teddy was Summer. He was Summer in the way he would wake up early, while it was still cool, and curl up in blue pyjamas on the sofa, devouring books that everybody had bought for him—Dahls and Blytons and Wizards of Oz.

He was Summer in the way he spent the hot afternoons running through the garden with butterflies and insects, pretending to fire spells at imaginary attackers with a pen, climbing on dragons and flying away.

He was Summer in the soft whispered stories he told in the evenings, surrounded by toys, his hair changing colours as he made tiny cars and dragons act out adventures.

He was Summer during the full moon nights, when everything was hot and stuffy and the air was too heavy to breathe, when he would curl in a corner of his bed, sweating, and all Andy could do was hold his hand and wait for it to pass, just as she waited for the Summer to pass.

* * *

Andy couldn't escape the Summer. Andy didn't _want_ to escape her own little Summer. But sometimes, when the nights stretched out and the memories were everywhere, she wondered if it wouldn't be better. If he wasn't there.

Then maybe Summer would hurt less.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this came out rather different from what I'd planned, but it was still nice to write. I love Teddy :) I'm not entirely happy with some parts of it, but it doesn't seem to work otherwise, so... Edits will have to be abandoned for now.

Many thanks to everyone who's read, favourited and followed, and especially everyone who's reviewed! They are greatly appreciated :)


	3. Autumn

It had all started in the Autumn. The first of September, so many years ago. He had arrived at King's Cross with his own trunk for the very first time, fulfilling a dream that he had thought was impossible for years. He had climbed onto the train and hung about in the corridors for ages, afraid of finding a compartment. When he finally did, he entered one with three other first year boys, one plump, one with messy hair and crooked glasses, one with a mischievous grin and expensive clothes.

He had introduced himself as Remus Lupin. He could feel their eyes on his scars. He had sat down slowly and began counting the seconds until somebody realised, until someone noticed that he didn't belong here, until someone shouted the dreaded word.

It didn't happen. When somebody finally spoke, it was the messy-haired boy, who grinned and held out his hand.

"James Potter, nice to meet you. Would you like a chocolate frog? And please, for Merlin's sake, tell me you're interested in Quidditch!"

* * *

Now, though, there was nobody left. _Nobody_. There were no pestering voices every day begging him to come and see a Quidditch match, no constant gifts of chocolates that he was quite sure had been stolen from his own stash, no friendly voices always there with him, nobody always at his back when a fight broke out, nobody glaring at shopkeepers when he was removed from yet another shop, nobody replacing Sickles with Knuts for him and no familiar animals at his side during the full moon.

It was because of the Autumn. It was because of that day, when the wind had been sharp and bitter and Muggle children wandered around, eating their sweets from the previous night, oblivious to the danger around them.

* * *

He still had nightmares about it, nightmares more vivid and painful than anything else lycanthropy and the war had caused. He had woken up early, but he hadn't been at ease. The air had felt different. He had decided to floo the protected house in Godric's Hollow, but when he stuck his head through the flames, he met a wall. Something had happened to their fireplace.

His hands had been shaking as he apparated to Godric's Hollow. Even as he arrived, landing on golden leaves on the ground, in the light of the rising sun, he noticed several things were wrong, one after the other.

There were wizards roaming around excitedly in robes on the streets, breaking the Statue of Secrecy.

There was rubble on the street, bits of brick scattered around, as if from an explosion.

The Fidelius Charm was broken. The house was clearly visible. The house was broken. The house was _gone_.

Before anything else could happen, he apparated to just outside Hogwarts. It had become a reflex, after all these years, to go there when things went wrong. The childish part of him said that Dumbledore would fix everything, as he had so often. The optimistic part of him assured him that James and Lily and baby Harry would be there in Dumbledore's office, safe and sound, as would be Peter and Sirius, and this was all a big mistake and nothing had really happened. The realistic part of him was screaming and shouting, telling him that everything was finished.

Dumbledore was there, as if he had known Remus would come. He was standing in ankle-length grass, already dying in preparation for the winter. When Remus arrived, he dropped his newspaper. Remus saw the headline, but it didn't matter. How could it matter that Voldemort was gone when Dumbledore was standing here, crying?

"Was it Sirius?" was all Remus could ask.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He couldn't answer.

It was Autumn, and everything was dying. Remus was dying. And after that day, he was never truly alive again.

* * *

**A/N: So, this didn't turn out quite like I expected (that's becoming a habit) but it was fun, 'cause of my not-so-slight obsession with the Marauders. And a little depressing.**

**Many apologies for the hiatus; I was travelling and had absolutely no time. Thank you so much to all of you reading, following, favouriting and reviewing! As usual, reviews are very much appreciated.**


	4. Winter

It was Christmas. It was a white Christmas. Much like a little child, Harry had woken up ridiculously early and left the bedroom silently. Ginny hadn't stirred. He was now sitting in the living room, his eyes on the Christmas tree, surrounded by gifts from the entire extended family and friends. The Potters' Christmas trees were renowned in the family as always being the biggest ones, and as a result, all the children–_all_ of them–insisted on decorating it. This year, in between the mix of muggle and magical lights hung several ornaments, including a flying model of a dragon that Charlie had gifted Hugo, a real golden Snitch that Albus had insisted on having, and a small framed photo of Remus and Tonks that Teddy volunteered every year.

"Dad?"

Harry turned around to see Lily, rubbing her eyes, her red hair hanging over her face, and her blanket still wrapped around her. He held out his arms, and she immediately curled up in his lap. "Merry Christmas, Lil," he said, kissing her head.

"Christmas?" Lily's eyes were wide open. She looked around, and her gaze rested on the Christmas tree, glittering with dozens of brightly-coloured lights. Harry had to grin as she clapped her hands and squealed, "It's Christmas!"

"And look," Harry said, turning her head towards the window. Soft flakes swirled down, catching on the glass and landing on the ground. "It's snowing."

"Snow!" Harry wouldn't have thought it possible, but her brown eyes lit up even more. She rested her head against his chest, seemingly content to watch the scene around her—snowflakes on the window, lights on the tree, flames dancing below the three stockings on the mantelpiece. And Harry was perfectly happy doing the same.

"Dad?" she said after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me a story." After a moment, she added. "A Christmas story. A _real_ one."

"A real one, eh?" Harry was used to being asked for stories by all the children, and out of all of them, only Teddy knew the true stories. And even then, he had glossed over several details. However, he had never before been asked for a story in this way. His mind rushed backwards, to all the Christmases he had seen and heard about.

* * *

His first Christmas with his parents, which the pictures showed had been celebrated with Remus, Sirius and Peter.

All his Christmases with the Dursleys which, despite everything, he could look back on and smile a little because of the strange, blurred memories of Dudley and the huge amounts of cake he had consumed.

His first Christmas at Hogwarts, which he remembered like a series of bright photographs—taking Ron to the Mirror, Nicholas Flamel, Hermione saying that her parents were dentists.

His second Christmas at Hogwarts, with himself and Ron and Hermione, when he had been hearing voices in the walls and they had drugged Crabbe and Goyle and Hermione had half-transformed into a cat, which he doubted he would ever forget.

Christmas during his third year, when he had just found out who everyone thought Sirius was, when he had had two connections to his parents in front of him for the first time, when he had received his Firebolt and when Trelawney had refused to sit at the Christmas table.

The Yule Ball during Fourth Year, when he had been a champion, the last truly peaceful Christmas he had ever had. He could still remember the scene, the tension between Ron and Hermione, the awkwardness of the whole situation.

Christmas with Sirius, Remus, Tonks and the Weasleys during his fifth year; Christmas at Grimmauld Place and St. Mungo's; the Christmas when he had spent so much time with his godfather without knowing that he wouldn't get any more time with him at all.

The last Christmas he could have spent at Hogwarts, which he had spent at the Burrow, when he had asked Remus about the Half-Blood Prince and found out about Greyback as 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong, Love' played; when Scrimgeour had arrived with Percy, and when he had mentioned Dumbledore, not knowing that it was the last Christmas Dumbledore would celebrate.

Christmas with Hermione at Godric's Hollow, when they had walked through the graveyard and found Ignotus Peverell's grave, when they had seen Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore's graves, and when he had seen his parents' graves for the very first time.

What could he say? It was Christmas. They were all Christmases. They hadn't been perfect Christmases—they had been painful, they had been filled with memories, full of wishes and 'what if's, but they had been beautiful as well.

He would give so much to go back and relive those moments, to see everybody who had gone one more time. Things didn't get easier as time went on—the pain just dulled. It was still there, a constant ache in his heart. There wasn't a moment that he didn't wish he could hear Fred and George talking in sync again, or see his parents and Sirius and Remus and Tonks in front of him, or meet Dumbledore and speak to him without the weight of war and Voldemort on their shoulders. Nothing had been perfect at those times, and nothing was right now.

What sort of Christmas story could he tell?

* * *

After a moment, Harry shifted so that Lily could sit up on his lap. She watched him, brown eyes on green. "Well?" she asked.

"I've got it," he said softly. He could feel the tears, but he was smiling.

"Once upon a time, on a white Christmas, a little girl called Lily Potter—"

"Dad!" Lily shook her head and giggled.

Harry laughed and kissed her cheek. This was, after all, the closest to perfect he was ever going to get. And he wouldn't give it up for anything.

* * *

**Longer than usual A/N:** So, this chapter is very different from the others, in style and in mood, but it only worked that way, so I hope you like it. Lily was lots of fun to write, and it was great writing something a little more uplifting. I had to work Harry into it, didn't I?

Anyway, thank you so much for following and reading this story, and extra thanks to those who did/are going to review (that was a hint). It means a lot to me, and I do hope I've replied to all of you! It's great to finish this story, and since I enjoyed this last chapter so much, I'm thinking of putting up a Next-Gen story. Nothing long, mind (my focus is on my long-term LotR fic, *hint hint*) but a two- or three-shot. Would you all be interested?

Thanks once more for reading, and please do review and give ConCrit!


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